


Slow Limp Towards the Podium

by Just_Another_Day



Series: Thrown for a Loop [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skating, Background Ancel/Berenger, Childhood Friends, Gen, Injury Recovery, Jealousy, Prequel, Rivalry, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 05:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: Ancel had always had an elaborate picture of what his future would look like pasted throughout his mind. Now he just has to make sure that future is still a possibility, even if the path leading them there is far different (and longer) than what he'd once imagined.





	Slow Limp Towards the Podium

**Author's Note:**

> This is set shortly after Bracket Turn, and is a second prequel to Thrown for a Loop. It really would make more sense to read those first. Or at least to read Bracket Turn first. But it's obviously up to you.
> 
> I meant to post this about three months ago and then just... forgot. Sorry.

The apartment was tiny and located in a slightly questionable part of the city. It wasn't at all what Ancel had expected of Laurent, to the point that he'd half-wondered whether Berenger was trying to keep Ancel away from Laurent when he'd given Ancel the address. Certainly, it was nothing like what Ancel had encountered every other time he'd visited Laurent in his home. They'd both been much younger at the time. Laurent had still been living in his family home outside the city, under the 'care' of his uncle. Ancel had visited him there on a few occasions, though somehow never when Laurent's uncle was in town. Having seen the scale of his house and the obvious expense of everything inside, Ancel had wondered at the time whether Laurent was ashamed of having his uncle see him associate with the practically destitute kid who was being bounced from one foster home to another, and who was barely managing to cling to the sporting scholarship that was the only reason he could continue to skate given the ridiculous expense of the sport. Now Ancel suspected that Laurent had actually been more ashamed of Ancel meeting his uncle than the other way around. 

Not that the man hadn't found out all about Ancel and his connection to his nephew even without ever officially meeting Ancel himself. So if Laurent had ever been trying to protect Ancel (which Ancel doubted anyway), then he'd obviously done a poor job of it in the end.

It had been a foolish decision, in retrospect, to ever put himself in Laurent's sphere and open himself up to that. When Ancel had first met him, everyone had already been talking about Laurent de Vere, the up-and-coming junior who would be moving to seniors the following season. Ancel had wanted everyone to talk about _him_ that way instead. It had seemed simpler to steal the limelight once Ancel was already sharing it, so he'd purposely gotten close to the other boy. He hadn't expected to genuinely like Laurent enough that he'd hesitated to drop their 'friendship' when he should have.

Ancel hadn't fully realised how the topic of conversation surrounding Laurent was changing from awestruck and envious to some mixture of suspicious and pitying until it was too late, and those same looks were being sent Ancel's way as well. He'd been dragged into the whole mess before he could extricate himself. Ostracism by association hadn't been something Ancel had ever predicted happening to him.

So getting anywhere near Laurent had been a mistake and Ancel knew it. And he also knew that coming here now probably was a mistake as well. But Ancel was flying out tonight and putting half a world in between himself and the threats that might be levelled at him if anyone (or one person in particular) interpreted this as some show of support, so screw them.

When Laurent answered the door, he looked wary but not entirely surprised to see Ancel. There was a moment when Ancel wondered whether Laurent was going to refuse to let him inside. He seemed just as likely to make Ancel talk to him from the hallway like some kind of peddler, or even to just shut the door in Ancel's face. Ancel supposed that, considering everything, he couldn't have rightly blamed Laurent if he had done that (though Ancel had never let that keep him from resentment before).

Laurent did hop backwards out of the way of the door eventually, though, letting it swing open so that Ancel could step through. He turned his back on Ancel as he swung himself, leaning awkwardly on his newly-acquired crutches, down the tiny entrance area and into the main room where an apparently-much needed chair waited for him to half-collapse into it. Ancel took the fact that Laurent let him see that as a sign that despite whatever else might have passed between them, there was also still some measure of trust there. Considering how Laurent had come about the injury that had forced him into that imposing cast on his left leg, he might have been forgiven for not wanting to appear even passingly vulnerable to anyone, let alone an established rival.

Not that Ancel was his rival at the moment. Laurent wouldn't be skating this season, after all. He had the worst timing, honestly.

"You're annoying as fuck, you know," said Ancel.

"Am I?"

"You sure are. I can't believe I was ever stupid enough to assume you might actually provide some worthwhile challenge to me at the Olympics."

Dryly, Laurent said, "I think it's fair to say that we used to both believe a lot of things that haven't since turned out to be true."

Yes. And picturing a day when they might stand on that particular podium together (with Ancel at the top, of course) had hardly been the most damaging of those mistaken beliefs. But it was still irritating because now Ancel was somehow in the position where he now felt for some reason as though he had to come here and… what? Make Laurent promise to get back on the ice ASAP? Check up on him to make sure he was in the right state of mind for that? Say an actual goodbye like they were still friends or something? Exchange hugs and cry on each other's shoulders? Ancel didn't even really know why he was here, to be honest. Just that he'd felt like he would regret it if he didn't come.

"I'd thought you'd be halfway to Canada by now instead of showing up on my doorstep," Laurent said.

"The flight doesn't leave until this evening," Ancel said. "I'm a little surprised you won't be on it too."

"I don't have quite the incentive that you do."

"Jealous? I always knew you liked Berenger."

"I was actually talking about me not needing to train this season, actually, but believe whatever you want, I suppose. Everyone always does."

Ancel didn't recognise what he was feeling. Was this supposed to be guilt? He didn't like it.

Trying to chase that terrible feeling away probably explained why Ancel otherwise-inexplicably seemed to be arguing for Laurent to move to Canada as well even though Ancel hated the thought of Berenger's attention being divided like that. "Berenger could get you access to better rehabilitation for your leg once you're away from _his_ sphere of influence. Unless you're going to tell me that you're not interested in getting yourself back into performance shape for next season."

"Of course I am," Laurent said. "If anything was going to make me give up, don't you think it would have already happened by now?"

Yes. Figure skating wasn't an easy sport to either participate or succeed in, and they'd both had it even harder than most. Neither of them had given in even so. Aimeric didn't even particularly like Laurent most days, but he couldn't deny they had determination (and stubbornness) in common. And that neither of them was willing to stop until they made it to the absolute pinnacle, where only one man could stand. That was the problem Ancel was having with all of this right there: beating Laurent in particular to the top had at some point become almost as important to Ancel as getting there in the first place.

"Beijing," Ancel declared.

Laurent frowned. It took him a moment to figure out what Ancel was saying. "The 2022 Olympics, you mean?"

"I'm getting the gold there," Ancel swore. "And you're going to have to settle for silver at best. But you _are_ going to be there. It's not really winning unless you beat the best, after all."

"I think that's nicer than anything you ever said to me when we were actually friends," Laurent said.

"That's probably because we were only ever 'friends' in the loosest sense of the word, whatever your uncle might have thought of it."

That wasn't precisely true, but Laurent didn't need to know that, did he?

Laurent's lips curled. "What do people like us need friendship for, when rivalry is a thousand times more motivating?"  
Ancel's smile was as sly as Laurent's. "Exactly."

"Even without me there, though, you're not going to win gold at PyeongChang," Laurent said. "I've seen your spins. You look drunk half the time when you come out of them."

Ancel narrowed his eyes. "You can hardly talk. Your hydroblading always looks like you're sprawled barely conscious on the ice, and that spiral you keep trying to do made it look like you had a broken leg long before you ended up with the real thing."

With anyone else, that might have been a step too far. Laurent, though, simply replied, "Try not to fall flat on your face in front of the entire world."

"Try not to cry while you're forced to watch my winning performances from halfway across the world and behind a television."

All in all, Ancel would say it was by far the most civil goodbye they'd shared since they were sixteen. 

Laurent would be alright, Ancel determined. Not that he cared about Laurent's well-being for its own sake, he reminded himself. All he really cared about was that Laurent wouldn't disappear from the figure skating scene before they'd ever managed to really make their impact on it. They would be able to face off again, on the world stage this time the way it always should have been instead of being restricted to regional competitions and Nationals, where they'd both been so chronically underscored by the Federation that their placings had meant nothing.

Ancel hated having to wait and pretend he had any patience, but he didn't really have a choice, so he would just have to be (relatively) content that the opportunity would still come eventually. Because Ancel was intent on defeating Laurent properly one day. Then the whole world (and Berenger) would finally know for sure that they'd been wrong to assume for all those years that Laurent was the one they should be watching.

Ancel would show them.


End file.
